The Freak and the Unsolved Case of the Mysterious
by Yuval25
Summary: 'The Freak and the Unsolved Case of the Mysterious Girlfriend' - That's the actual title. "For God's sake! Do I need to put a ring on your finger for people to realize you're involved?" he yelled into the phone desperately. Freak's got himself a girlfriend. Please R&R! OneShot.


_I wanted to do something a little different this time. Hence, this. I don't have much to say. Sherlock is owned by BBC and Sherlock Holmes belongs to Arthur Conan Doyle. Tell me what you think of this. Oh, and tell me if you got it or if I didn't make it clear enough! Enjoy!_

**The Freak and the Unsolved Case of the Mysterious Girlfriend**

**By**

**Yuval25**

The Freak was here. What was Lestrade thinking, bringing him to another crime scene he can disrespectfully take apart? He had no right, first harassing them by making them look like fools for not solving this case and now having the nerve to show his drug-addicted face here. Sally hated the bastard. He always stuck his nose in other people's privet businesses. He was a disgusting, annoying psychopath.

His stupid, smug smile made her want to punch him in the face. His eyes were sliding down her form, and if he wasn't the Freak she would have thought he was checking her out. But, no, he _was_ the Freak, and he was seeing deeper than other people.

She glared at him. "What are _you_ doing here?"

He grinned at her. He was acting strangely. Usually he would just demand to enter, adding a few humiliating comments about her personal life. She scrutinized him carefully, suspiciously. What was his deal?

"I was invited," he answered her question seriously. He looked tense. Well, having a stick up your ass tended to do that. And Sally knew. She stifled the urge to rub her sore behind, which was the result of a wonderful night with Mark.

"What for?" she didn't want to let him in. She didn't want him to look at the body and solve the case in a few seconds after they worked their assed off trying to solve the last three suicides, getting nowhere.

"I think he wants me to take a look," he was mocking her, thinking she's an idiot. Freak.

She gritted her teeth as he raised the yellow tape and passed under it.

"I see you didn't make it home last night," he rudely remarked, his eyes taking in her appearance once more. She did not know how he knew that, having only her clothes and hair to go by, and she didn't want to know. Not if it meant she'd be like _him_; a freak, a lonely, hated and friendless person whose only joy in life is someone's death or another horrid thing like that.

"So I'm guessing you knew what I think about you being here," she hoped he did. If not, she was always there to remind him how much she despised him.

"Always, Sally," he walked off.

She pressed the button on her Walkie Talkie and muttered an angry "Freak's here, bringing him in," to Lestrade as she stomped over to Holmes and passed by him. If she had to lead the Freak into the building, she's going to do that from a distance, however small.

Mark was just getting out of the building with his crew. He was talking to Holmes, leaning on the doorway for support after a long, tiring day.

"Is your wife away for long?" the Freak interrupted him. Sally shared a quick, panicked look with Mark.

"Oh, don't pretend you knew that. Somebody told you," Mark said in disbelief.

Sally scowled – that was literally _asking_ the Freak to demonstrate how he got that title.

"Your deodorant told me,"

What the hell? Maybe she should tell Lestrade his perfect 'consulting detective' has finally gone completely mad.

"What about it?" Mark asked, confused and slightly offended.

"It's for men," it was said in a surprised tone and Sally wondered where it was an insult to Mark's manliness.

"Of course it's for men. I'm wearing it,"

"So is Sergeant Donovan."

Sally's head snapped up to look at Holmes in shock. The deduction was brilliant, of course, and coming from anyone but the Freak it would have seriously impressed her, but she knew how horrible the man could be and that ruined any chance of her being impressed by that awful display. Before either she or Mark could say anything, however, a phone rang. The Freak took it out of his coat pocket and answered, completely ignoring the outrageous looks the unofficial couple sent his way.

"Sherlock Holmes," was his greeting. The caller must have said something back because the Freak's corners of the mouth edged upwards and he said, "Oh, finally. I thought you'd stay there forever," a small pause, then, "The nurse did what? Flirted with you?" There was disbelief in his tone, and if Sally looked closely she could detect a hint of anger in his expression.

Mark looked as confused as Sally felt. Who would want to call the Freak? Did he actually have someone who didn't run away from him at first chance? Sally couldn't see how someone could possible stand the man and his endless odd behaviors and quirks. Lestrade chose that moment to step out of the unsafe structure; probably tired of waiting for Holmes. He was wearing a sterile suit and gloves, his shoes already covered with the clean, white cloth.

He turned t her and mouthed 'What's going on?', a question to which she simply shrugged, not having the slightest idea as to what was up with Holmes. She pointed with her thumb towards the problem, who was still talking on the phone.

"Oh, for God's sake! Do I need to put a ring on your finger for people to realize you're already involved with someone? Wasn't that hickey I left on your neck enough of a proof?" The Freak yelled helplessly.

It took a few seconds for her to catch up on the fact that the Freak gave someone a hickey. Moreover, a girl actually _let_ him touch her. Now, _that_ was a disgusting thought. How could any woman let those Goddamned freakish lips kiss her was something sally would never understand.

Lestrade was gaping at his consulting detective in pure shock, unable to comprehend what he's just heard. His eyes were bulging out of their sockets. Mark was much the same, eyes widely pen and jaw dropped.

"I could always give you some more… No, I'm at a crime scene. I'll order you a cab… Fine, but you'd have to eat it frozen; there are eyes in the microwave…" Sally sent Lestrade a look that clearly said 'What the hell?', "I'd probably be home later tonight. It shouldn't take more than a few hours. Alright, see you later," he hung up then, and with a pressing of his fingertips on the keypad he put the phone back to his ear. "I need a taxi for…" a glance at his watch, "an hour from now. In St. Bartholomew's Hospital. Yes. Sherlock Holmes." He hung up a few second later, a pleased expression on his face.

He then turned back to them, seemingly obvious to the questioning stares. Clapping his hands together in satisfaction, he swirled around to face Lestrade, his coat flying around him dramatically, like that potion teacher in Harry Potter, Sally remembered.

"Okay, where's our body?" he asked gleefully. It revolted Sally that he could show so much excitement over someone's death. She wondered if he would have jumped from joy if it was his… girlfriend lying dead in an abandoned house.

"Upstairs," Lestrade returned to the building, looking over his shoulder briefly to ensure Holmes was following him. When they were out of hearing range, Sally caught Mark's gaze.

"Do you believe what just happened?" the married man asked her skeptically. His team has left without him, having run out of patience waiting for him.

"Freak's got himself a girlfriend. Unbelievable." Sally whispered.

"Yeah," Mark chuckled hysterically, "An actual living person. I always thought he would end up either lonely or with a corpse. Who knew an actual human being could stand him."

She smiled at him in agreement. Even in her wildest dreams she would have never expected Holmes, the Freak, to end up in a relationship.

"I would have gone up there to supervise. Who knows? He might have gone bonkers and faked that phone call. I wouldn't put it past him. You should go check he hasn't murdered Lestrade or something, or cut the body open," she offered. In all honesty, she was actually hoping for some more data about the mysterious girl who managed to make the sarcastic detective smile a real, honest-to-God smile.

What kind of type Holmes liked? A woman like him, perhaps? God forbid, no. One insufferable psychopath was enough in this world. Would the woman be cute, pink and giddy like a school girl? Somehow, Sally couldn't see that happening. Holmes would eat a woman like that alive. Would she be a professional woman? She had to be smart, because Holmes wouldn't consider anyone with lesser intelligence than maybe Lestrade a worthy company. Sally got stuck with the mental image of Lestrade in a wig snogging Holmes. She shook it off immediately, trying to forget the horror. She went back to the yellow tapes to continue her guarding job beside the police cruiser.

Later that night, they got a call from an ex-army-doctor by the name John Watson about a cab driver with a fake gun and a very familiar poison in a pill-bottle. When they reached the scene, a man sporting a very red hickey greeted them, dragging the unconscious cabbie, whose hands were both suspiciously pierced. The man, John Watson, gave his statement and then disappeared into a black car which conveniently appeared the moment he finished reporting to the police.


End file.
